Stubborn
by Sherlock221
Summary: John comes home to find an injured Sherlock who refuses to go to the hospital. Hurt/Sherlock Protective/John.


Stubborn

"Sherlock?!" John yelled, in disbelief. his eyes widened, bigger than an owls and his jaw dropped.

John appeared not to be in control of his expression because if John was, he wouldn't have let such a look consume his face in Sherlock's presence. But of course this wasn't quite an ordinary situation. For, both men. Well, Sherlock, he wasn't quite so much of his arrogant self. In fact, at this moment he was propped awkwardly against a cupboard in the kitchen. His back arched and his arm slumped over a crimson patch on his usually crisp, white shirt. His eyes were open ever so slightly and his breathing was short and weak. But he was, to John's slightest relief, alive. But maybe not for long, John thought when he saw the thick blood pooling under him. Weakening him by the minute.

Naturally, John bounded over to his still form, collapsing to his knees by his side. Ignoring the warm sensation soaking through his pants. John pressed his hand over Sherlock's, eliciting a small moan. John brushed his sweat soaked hair out of his eyes with his other hand. His mind raced. John went to reach for his phone when John heard the almost inaudible sound coming from his friend.

"John..."

"Sherlock? Sherlock," John pleaded, tapping Sherlock's face gently. Sherlock moaned, his head rolling up to lay on the cupboard behind him. His eyes rolled around in his head.

"Can you hear me?"

Sherlock turned his head towards the voice. His eyes closed before they snapped back open.

"John?!" He grumbled.

"Yeah, I'm here," John smiled, relieved to finally get a response from the man. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Hurrs..John," Sherlock slurred.

"I know, hold on. Let me see."

John gently pushed Sherlock's arm to the side, where it fell to the floor limp. He moved back Sherlock's coat and could clearly see how much blood Sherlock had already lost. His shirt was soaked. Stab wound. "Oh my god."

"Johnnn.." Sherlock moaned, weakly grasping at John's arms.

"I'm calling Lestrade, then getting you medical attention."

"No!" He panicked "John, No hospital."

"Sherlock you need to get help, you've lost to much blood already"

Sherlock stayed silent, his energy to depleted to continue arguing. John pulled out his phone, one hand still pressed on the wound.

Suddenly, Sherlock's hand whips out and knocks the phone from John's hand.

"Sher- What the hell?"

"Noo. No hospit..al," Sherlock practically begs.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Your being..naggy," Sherlock states, almost drunkenly.

John presses harder on the wound, eliciting a strangled cry from Sherlock.

"John!"

John smirks. "I have to keep pressure on it."

"You..did that on. Purpose."

"Sherlock, I'm serious. I'm not going to watch you bleed to death."

Sherlock sighs theatrically. "You're a doc-..doctor! Be of use!"

John huffs out an angry breath. "Sherlock."

"Please. John."

The look in Sherlock eyes almost makes him give in right then. Then he realizes if Sherlock refuses help from the hospital, he really will bleed out. Stubborn Sherlock is a pain in the ass.

"Fine," John agrees, anger evident on his face. He rubs a quick hand down his face, thinking quickly of the best way to do this.

"Do you have..med-..equipment?" Sherlock asks, taking short breathes in between his words.

"Of course."

John quickly went to his room to retrieve the minimal medical equipment he kept with him. Not much. But it was enough.

He hurried back to his friend and began to clear off the kitchen table, laying the necessary supplies on it.

"Can you stand up?" John asked gently, turning to Sherlock.

"No."

John smirked. "Well, you have to."

John turned his attention back to Sherlock who looked even worse now than ever. His skin paler than it was to start with and sweat causing a shiny coat on his forehead.

"Sherlock?" John tried.

"mm?" He groaned.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Chasing suspect... Stabbed... hurts ...Tired." Was all John could make out.

" Yeah, tired. But you have to stay awake." Sherlock just shook his head, his eyes drifting shut.

As quickly as possible, John gets a groaning Sherlock to his feet, pulling his jacket and button up white shirt off. Finally the detective is laying flat on his back on the table and John is standing over him readying his equipment.

"Ready?"

Sherlock moved his head slowly in what could barely be named as a nod and before he knew it, John was pouring alcohol onto the wound and slowly inserted the needle into the flesh. Sherlock bit his lip in attempt to suppress his cries, but he ended up biting straight through the top layer of his lip and he cried out.

"Shh..Breathe, Sherlock," John comforts.

"I'm..not a..baby," Sherlock groans.

"Well, your certainly acting like one."

John smiled at the glare Sherlock shot at him, but his smile quickly faded when he saw blood dribbling down Sherlock's chin. He shook his head, unsure for a moment about doing this. As an Army Doctor, John always stayed unattached from his patients, making the process easy. But this was Sherlock. Not easy.

John thanks god as he notices the knife didn't seem to go too deep and missed anything important on it's way into Sherlock's side.

John glances up to Sherlock to see his eyes full of pain and trying to close. _Keep him talking._

He continues to stitch the wound, ignoring the tremble that is making its way through his arm to his hand. "Your going to be weak from blood loss, but you should be ok."

Sherlock doesn't reply, but fixes his eyes on John. It seems to comfort him.

John took a deep breath and carefully pushed the needle through again, Sherlock grits his teeth, John could actually hear them grinding together. He ran the needle through the other side of the wound and very carefully pulled it tight. He tied it off and cut the thread. He started on the next stitch, just focusing on the action and not thinking about what he was actually doing. If he thought about it he started getting nauseous.

Sherlock stays still as he possibly can while John stitches up his side, face turned toward the wall, flinching when the needle goes in. John attempts to whispers words of comfort to Sherlock through the whole thing. Fingers clenching and unclenching, Sherlock's hand raises up trying to grab hold of something and succeeds in pulling at John's forearm.

"No!" John exclaims. Thankfully, he had just finished one of the stitches so the arm Sherlock grabbed was away from the wound.

Sherlock gives John a weirdly apologetic look and John sighs.

"It's ok," John reassures, giving a small smile. He reaches up a hand to rest on Sherlock's forehead. He hisses, but isn't surprised at the heat radiating from it.

"You have a fever. Probably from shock," John comments aloud.

"I'm not..in shock."

John laughs at the detectives reply. "I'll give you some pills to help with the pain and fever when I'm done. Ready?"

Another small nod.

John sews, hands slick with blood. He kept going until the wound was closed. Fifteen in all. They were a little uneven, much to John's dismay. Must have been due to shaking hands, but they were holding and the bleeding had dropped off to a trickle. John cleaned the blood away and placed a sterile pad over the stitches, he wrapped a bandage around Sherlock's side and looked up at him. Sherlock's eyes were closed and his face was green-gray.

"All done," John announced, watching Sherlock's face intently for a response.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied, eyes still closed.

"Think you can make it to the couch?" John asked, sighing as he looked around at the state of the kitchen. Blood on the floor, Sherlock's blood. He turns his eyes away quickly to see Sherlock attempting to sit up on the table.

"Whoa, take it easy."

Sherlock glares at John and unwillingly take the hand extended to him. Slowly, they make their way to the couch.

Once Sherlock was as comfortable as he could be, John goes to Sherlock's room to grab a blanket and finally, to the kitchen to grab some pain pills.

On returning to the living room, he smiled when he saw Sherlock asleep and breathing evenly.

"Get some rest, Sherlock." John whispered, laying the blanket over his friend and making his way to sit in his chair for the night.

A/N Please let me know what you thought!


End file.
